Mirage
by orianna-2000
Summary: With a broken heart and a throbbing hangover, Erik wakes to find himself in a highly unprecedented and alarming situation. A short, dark story.


_This is a non-profit work of fan-fiction based upon Gaston Leroux's _The Phantom of the Opera_. This story, and all original content, belongs to the author, © 2005, 2006. _

"_**Mirage"**_  
**By Orianna-2000**

**--- **

_An exploration of "what if...?"__ written for PFN's second morbid story contest. Inspired by references in the original novel._

_---_

Erik pulled himself groggily across the floor. His sensitive fingers felt a featureless surface beneath him – neither brick, nor wood, certainly not carpet, or ceramic tile. He let his head rest against the floor. It felt almost like metal, but it didn't matter, so long as the cool plane remained smooth and eased the the mighty headache which throbbed inside his temples. The darkness helped too. Any brighter and he might actually be ill.

It occurred to him to wonder why, exactly, his head ached so. He didn't recall getting drunk... or did he? Now he couldn't be sure. Perhaps he'd merely fallen and given himself a concussion. After all, what reason did he have for drunkenness?

Oh, yes. That's right – _Christine_.

She'd left him.That must be why his chest hurt so badly – his heart had broken. Christine left, and he would never be whole again. He'd given her freedom, sent her away with that spoiled viscount so that she might be happy. After all, one couldn't be happy living five stories under the earth with a masked madman, could one? Naturally not! Christine needed sunshine and flowers and crowds of fans who adored her voice. Nevermind that _he _had given her that marvelous voice. Truly, she'd paid him back more than he could have ever asked, just by letting him kiss her on the forehead. Such a good girl! He loved her... more than he'd ever loved anything, and so he let her free.

Still, it hurt more than he could bear. Why did such exquisite joys always come with such dreadful consequences?

Vaguely he recalled bottles of fine wine, followed by a crystal decanter of very expensive whiskey. He had gotten drunk, then, to ease the pain. It seemed reasonable that in his drunken stupor he might have fallen and hit his head. Surely a mere hangover didn't hurt _this_ badly. But where on earth could he have fallen? Most of his home had rich carpets covering the stone floors, not the strange glass or metal tile that he felt beneath his cheek.

Had he gotten stupid and allowed himself to be captured? That would be just wonderful, wouldn't it! After everything he'd done, everything he'd sacrificed for Christine's happiness, now would he rot in a modern Bastille? He supposed he deserved it, after all, for being such a wicked person. But he had let Christine go! Didn't that count for something?

Lights came on without warning, the steady glow of a thousand candles. Erik cringed and covered his face. Too bright! Much brighter than daylight, surely. His head throbbed, and he groaned. This headache wasn't worth the temporary numbness being drunk gave.

"Would you mind... turning the lights down... just a bit?" he asked with a hoarse voice.

No one answered.

"Damnation! The lights are awfully bright. Just... turn them down! Or shut the curtains, or something. Please," he added, since it wouldn't do to antagonize his captors over a simple matter. Best to save his temper, for now.

Still no reply, and the lights burned just as bright. Heaving a sigh, he staggered to his feet by leaning against the nearest wall, and squinted against the harsh brilliance. With his eyes nearly shut, he could just make out the figure of someone standing nearby. Ever so slowly his eyes began to adjust. He took a couple of blind steps, then risked opening his eyes all the way, holding one hand up to shade them from the worst of the light. He blinked rapidly, then attempted to focus on the man standing before him.

"My God," he muttered. "Someone as ugly as me? I didn't think that possible! No offense to you."

The man said nothing.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to offend you. Why do you think I wear this dratted mask all the time? Hm?" He reached up to pull the mask off, to show the other man that he really hadn't intended to be rude. But his mask wasn't there. "Blast, it must have fallen off when I fell. But then, you see? I am as cursed as you, my poor friend."

Still, the other man kept quiet. Erik leaned closer, and bumped his forehead against something. "What the devil?"

He reached out, as did the stranger. Their hands met, with a piece of glass between them. Belatedly, Erik realized that he faced a mirror. He laughed at the thought of conversing all this time with his own distorted reflection. "I must still be drunk," he chortled, and shook his head.

The motion created a whole array of similar actions, throughout the room. Scrunching up his face in bewilderment, Erik turned around dizzily. His head pounded with the movement. No matter which direction he looked, he faced himself, in a room full of mirrors!

A very sick feeling came over him.

It couldn't be. He'd fallen into his very own torture chamber?

He loosened his collar and swallowed convulsively. All around him, his reflection did the same. He laughed aloud at the irony. Then, cursing his foolishness, he sobered. How idiotic could one be, to stumble into one's own torture chamber while in a drunken stupor?

Decades ago he'd designed a similar room of mirrors for the Shah of Persia, and watched countless victims go insane trying to escape. Of course, he'd improved on the design a bit when he installed this one in the opera's cellars...

"All right. No need to panic. You built this room, you know the secrets!" He turned to the closest mirror and felt along the top for a depression to push. If he could find the secret catch, he could unlock the door and escape this dratted cage before it killed him. This mirror had no such lock, though, so he stepped to the next one, then the one beside that.

As he felt for the catch, the mirrors all shifted suddenly. He took a step backward in alarm. Suddenly he could no longer tell which mirrors he'd already checked. The room seemed to spin around him. Light reflected off each mirror, creating a dazzling and quite bewildering effect. His eyes watered. After a long moment, the movement ceased with the ominous clunkof machinery

"Is it getting hotter in here?" he remarked to himself. "Yes, yes of course it is. You designed it that way, after all. Any moment now..."

On cue, the mirrors shifted again. An iron tree came into view. Its reflection bounced across the chamber, creating the illusion of a thousand such trees. Erik stood in the middle of an artificial forest.

He winced and tried to focus on the reality of the situation. The imagery was flawless – he'd designed it to be so. Very quickly, anyone would succumb to hallucinations brought on by the revolving mirrors and the intense heat.

Knowing the secrets ought to give him an edge, he thought, as he took off his jacket. He just had to ignore the trees, and find the hidden door. Then he would dismantle this infernal contraption once and for all! For once, Nadir was right, the meddling fool. He should have destroyed this torture chamber long ago.

Wretchedly, he felt across the mirrors. But every time he blinked, he became disoriented and confused. The constant light burned his sensitive eyes. The heat stifled him, made him weak. The myriad of trees danced around him, taunting him.

He must stay sane! He must find the door.

But... why would there be a door in the middle of a forest? Frowning, he took a step toward the nearest tree. Surely there would be shade beneath it! He wiped his brow and heaved a sigh. It felt like he'd been walking for hours. And for what purpose?

Erik collapsed to the ground, not caring if he got dust on his suit. His sweat already stained it beyond redemption. The tree offered no shade, but a snake crawled along the branches overhead. Perhaps he could kill the snake for nourishment, slake his thirst with its fluids. He reached for it, wearily.

Wait... no. It wasn't a snake after all, merely a rope hanging from the twisted branch. A native must have left it there as a snare, to catch unwary animals – animals which likely came out only at night. Judging by the sun, it was still midday. At least he didn't have to worry about wearing his mask out here. The only creatures living in this hellish forest had visages uglier than his own. He sighed, pulled himself back up, and kept moving.

_There!_ In the distance, he could see the shimmer of water. A lake, perhaps, or a river. It didn't matter which, so long as he could drink the water. He stumbled toward it, already able to taste the cool, clear water, but an unseen barrier stopped him. Muttering a curse, he sank to the ground. Why on earth had he ever wanted to visit Africa, anyway? It must have been Nadir's idea... wretched man, always wanting to explore and expand his horizons. This time the daroga had gone too far!

How long had he been wandering about this blistering forest? It felt like weeks, perhaps months. His skin could sweat no more. His throat rasped for water. He would die soon, he thought. If only he could reach the river he knew to be so close! If only the trees would give protection from the scorching heat!

What reason did he have to keep moving? Something nagged at him. Something about a door. But why would there be a door out here, in the middle of the African wilderness? _Delusions_, the last logical part of his brain told him. Intense heat coupled with endless exertion had no doubt fried his brain. Perhaps he had heat stroke.

He crawled toward the closest tree and collapsed at the base, gasping for air. As he drifted into a crazed slumber, he dreamed of a beautiful voice which sang to him from the distant water. A nymph! She sang as she bathed, her naked body dripping with icy liquid. She called to him, and kissed his forehead, leaving a blessed spot where the skin did not burn. Then he woke and found himself lost still, surrounded by dark twisted trees and scorching sunlight. How he hated the sun!

"Christine..." he moaned. But she would not come to him here. Her fair skin would burn in this sunlight. Even the bark of the tree burned his hands as he leaned against it. How could any life survive in an environment such as this? Certainly he could not.

A snake dropped from the tree, but Erik did not flinch. The smooth creature felt wonderfully cool against his skin. Perhaps this place had more to offer than he originally suspected. He allowed the snake to wrap itself around his neck; the awful heat and light seemed to recede a bit. Yes, the snake would be his salvation! What friendly creatures there were in this place.

But after all, could he expect anything less from an African forest?


End file.
